


Nothing is True

by Rain1701



Category: Assassin's Creed, Deus Ex: Human Revolution
Genre: Abused!Desmond, Adam is Desmond's Big Brother, Assassin!Adam, Augmented!Desmond, Big Brother!Adam, Bill Miles Bashing, Capable!Desmond, Desmond gets kidnapped a lot, Desmond had Eagle Vision before the Animus, Desmond is not an idiot, F/F, Frank and Malik find out about Assassin Brotherhood, Insecure!Desmond, M/M, Modern Dai Equivalent!Adam, More characters to come, Sarif Industries Security!Desmond, Templar Order runs the Illuminati, The Bad Weather is in Detroit, more tags to come, protective!adam
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-11
Updated: 2015-07-02
Packaged: 2018-04-03 20:32:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4114030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rain1701/pseuds/Rain1701
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Adam hadn't thought he'd ever run across Desmond Miles. He knew the kid was good at blending into crowds, or even just against a wall, because of how quiet he was. Now that he had, there was no way he was going to tell Bill where Desmond was. Though apparently the Templar's and Illuminati had other plans, for both of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Malik insisted on dragging Adam out to a bar, he wasn't expecting to find the one person the entire Assassin Brotherhood had been looking for since the kid ran away nine years previous.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, a little bit of context here before the start:
> 
> Adam's history isn't changed with the White Helix project and him getting adopted by the Jensen family. Where the difference falls is that his adopted parents are Assassin's, and he has undergone the training to be one as well. Adam went into the police force at the start of the Great Purge, and is considered one of the best information dealers for the Brotherhood to date.
> 
> With Desmond, this is partially my headcannon for him: I have always seen him as being really good at hiding just how good of an Assassin he was while in training, partially because Bill Miles is a terrible father and put him through psychological abuse. I won't go into detail on just how I view Desmond, because it will come about later in the story. But he is not an idiot, nor is he a wimp/couch potato.

Adam barely bothered to look up as Malik sat down on top of the desk beside him. “What can I do for you today, Malik?” he asked, focused on finalizing the security schedule for the next week. He knew she was pouting by the way her legs started swinging in the corner of his eyes.

“Well,” she started. “You haven’t done anything but work since you joined us ten months ago. I figured we could go out for some drinks, get to know each other.”

He finished the schedule and sent it up to Athene to distribute before leaning back in his chair and meeting Malik’s gaze. He raised an eyebrow. “And if I don’t want to go get drinks?” he asked.

Malik didn’t even bat an eyelash. “Then I’ll tell Megan that you’re working too hard and that she needs to give you the boot out the doors for a night. Which would be the truth.” She pointed right at his face. “You work too hard, and you need to get out from the office. Especially after that break up. I know just the place.”

He stared at her, contemplating her offer. Adam really didn’t like the thought of going out on the town, much less for drinking, and Malik knew it. After as many times as he had turned down her offers before now, she had to know that he did not like the thought of drinking for the sake of drinking. There had to be some other reason for her to approach him about this, besides the break up with Megan. And using the woman as a threat was smart, considering they both still cared about the other despite their relationship not working out.

“What are you planning?” slipped out instinctively.

Malik grinned and jumped off of the desk. “Your shift ends in twenty minutes, right? Meet me in front of the building.” Before he could open his mouth to repeat his question, she was traipsing down the hall, probably back to her own office. Adam huffed before turning back to his computer.

Without really thinking about it, he entered one of the many encrypted forums on the Internet the Brotherhood had formed and scrolled through for any new updates. Everything seemed to be quiet on the Templar front, although one of the teams in Moscow hadn’t reported in for a few days. Didn’t look like anyone was going to be moving into Detroit for an operation any time soon. Adam filed the information away and logged out of the forum. No need for anyone to try and trace the entry to his work computer, much less any other computer in the nearby vicinity. He might be one of the Brotherhood, but that didn’t mean he wanted it advertised to the Templar Order and bring them crashing down on their heads. Besides, Frank probably had his computer bugged for unusual traffic. He might not like the man, and the feeling was mutual, but he didn’t want to be the cause of anyone else getting drawn into this bullshit. Which would be the case if anyone else found out about those forums, as shown by one Shaun Hastings and his rather rushed recruitment.

* * *

Adam sighed as he walked out of the building and up to a brightly grinning Malik. “Where are we going?” he asked.

Her grin grew as she pushed away from the railing she was leaning against. “It’s just down from the police station. Ever heard of the Bad Weather?” Adam’s eyebrows jumped up to his hairline. Malik chuckled. “No, after the amount of times you’ve turned me down I figure you haven’t. Don’t worry, it’s not some seedy little bar that I’m taking you to. The bartender right after our shift has this specialty drink called the Shirley Templar. Same as a Shirley Temple, but a little bit of gin, it’s really good.”

Adam was man enough to admit that his curiosity was peaked, but not for the reasons Malik would think of. The drink name was something that only an Assassin, or Assassin-raised civilian, would come up with. He hadn’t heard anyone else had moved into Detroit, had just checked that fact, though it’s not that uncommon for him to receive no word from other teams. But for one to go undercover as a bartender of all things?

What were the odds?

Wait. This is Bill we’re talking about. Of course he wouldn’t inform Adam if there was a new op going down. _“You’re no longer a cop, Adam.” No, I’m just head of security for the most up-and-coming biotechnology company in all of North America specializing in mechanical augmentation. Of course I don’t have to receive word if something happens in my city._

“Adam? Are you all right?”

Adam shook his head minutely and looked to Malik. “Yeah, fine. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You were grumbling,” she said very hesitantly. He was? Huh. Bill normally didn’t piss him off that much. “You don’t normally grumble. Did Frank do something today?”

He smiled. “No, it wasn’t Francis. Just...” he took a deep breath before continuing, “thinking about a conversation I’m going to need to have sooner rather than later.”

“This isn’t one of your street contacts from your cop days, is it?”

“No,” he snorted. “Them, I could haul in if they didn’t give me good enough information. Not this guy.”

As the front of the establishment came in sight, Adam had to hold in another snort as they were privy to an event that had to be normal around this place: a belligerent drunk finding himself physically removed from the bar by a bartender with tan skin and dark brown hair.

“And if I find you trying to sneak back in here, Tommy, I’ll call the cops!”

“They don’ have very far to go, Dez!”

“Dez” stuck his head out and looked around. “Wayne!” he suddenly yelled.

The former SWAT jumped from where he had been standing in uniform a scant five feet from the incident. “Yeah?”

“You want actual work?”

“Hell yeah!”

“Make sure this asshole doesn’t try and get back in here. The pretty lady he was groping would much appreciate it.”

Adam held in a shudder at the almost feral grin that spread over the cops face. He recognized that expression, had seen it enough times whenever their SWAT team had to handle busting child pornographers and prostitution rings. The way that Wayne cracked his knuckles meant trouble. “Oh shit,” Adam whispered, fighting to not pinch the bridge of his nose. There went the nice, quiet evening.

He barely managed to hear the “Come to Papa Wayne” before the terrified shriek from the drunk rang out in the streets as he tried to scramble away.

Malik whistled and watched as the chase began. “Damn. Okay, I’ve never seen that happen.”

Adam snorted. “This place is famous for that.”

He swore she was going to get whiplash from how quickly her head snapped toward him. “Wait, I thought you hadn’t—“

“You took my facial expression as if I didn’t know about this bar,” he said, pointing at her. “I worked as a cop. The station is right there. Officers are constantly arresting drunks from this bar if they cause a disturbance. Heck, I’ve arrested a few drunken idiots before I became SWAT from this bar. It might as well be a right of passage.” He shook his head, a grin curving his lips at her pout. “I’ve never actually been to it, if that makes you feel better.”

“You have no idea how much you saying that does make it better,” she said, smile back on her face. Malik grabbed his wrist and walked forward, “dragging” him towards the front of the bar. Adam kept to his silent amusement as he allowed the pilot to lead him into the establishment.

The room was low-lit, with the backlighting on the bar showcasing the impressive collection of alcohol the bartenders had to work with. Adam surreptitiously scanned the bar for exits or possible attacks, and noticed that hardly anyone looked like they were really disturbed by “Tommy” being kicked out by “Dez.” Speaking of, he appeared behind the bar that Malik was “dragging” Adam to, and was grinning at the woman. “Why am I not surprised that you’re here?” Dez asked as he leaned his hands against the bar.

Malik shrugged in a way that Adam knew there was an unrepentant grin on her face. “What can I say, I’m predictable in where I like to drink.” She gestured to Adam and said, “Besides, I’m not wholly predictable. Finally got the new guy to come here.”

Adam rolled his eyes as he took a seat at the bar. “I’ve worked with you for almost a year and I’m still the new guy, Malik?” He watched the bartender out of the corner of his eye, feeling like he should recognize the man from somewhere. If he was an Assassin, he was doing a damn god job making himself unrecognizable.

It was the scar that made everything click into place. He forced himself to not react when Dez turned towards him with a grin on his face and asked what he’d have. “I think Malik would try and maim me if I didn’t try one of those Shirley Templars before ordering something else,” he said, hiding his shock behind his giant well of sarcasm as dry as the Sahara desert. Standing behind the bar, grabbing club soda and a bottle of gin, was Desmond Miles. Bill’s wayward son.

In Detroit, of all places.

He’d only been three years into his police career when he received word that Desmond had ran away and to keep an eye out for him. To think that he’d find him, nine years and a career switch later, right under his nose, at the Bad Weather of all places, just made him want to laugh. Hysterically. And he wasn’t the kind of guy to do that on a normal basis.

There was no way he was going to tell Bill about this, though. The man was an ass, and from what he’d heard of the incident that caused Desmond to run away in the first place, it was a good thing the then-teen had gotten out of there.

But there was also the chance that this wasn’t Desmond. How many people had that same scar and looked eerily similar to the old picture of the teen on his file? Okay, maybe he was deluding himself there, but still. It could happen. Thinking of that, actually, he might need to somehow convince Frank to hack into the Assassin servers and find a version of Desmond’s file that wasn’t covered in redactions. There was no way the kid he remembered from his own, very infrequent, training sessions at the Farm was as terrible as that file said he was.

He needed to talk to Tish. If anyone knew who this guy really was, or if people were asking about the kid, it would be her.

* * *

The next night, just after his shift ended, Adam walked right down the road and up to Tish where she was looking through a garbage can. He grinned and pulled out a beer for her. “Hey, Latisha,” he greeted, holding out the beer for her.

Tish looked up and grinned, reaching out for the beer can and taking it from his hand. “Well, hello there, Cap’n. Buttering me up, are ya? What can this old girl do for ya?”

“I need some information. There’s a bartender at the Bad Weather that I recognized, but I’m not sure about it,” he said, settling his hip against the garbage can.

Her head tipped to the side, before a small smile crawled over her face. “You’re talking about Dez, ain’t ya? New guy, sweet, real good about kicking the bums out of the place. Specially if they messing with a woman.” She nodded, cracking open the beer. “I thinks I heard someone call him Desmond, but most everyone calls him Dez. He’s not in trouble, is he Cap’n?”

“He’s not, Tish,” Adam said. “I just want to know if it’s the guy that I thought he was. Though if people do start asking around for him...”

Tish winked at him as she took a deep drink. “I’ll keep an ear on the ground, Cap’n. No one touches one a my boys.”

He smiled softly. “Thanks, Tish.”

* * *

 Adam flipped through the file that he had received from Bill years ago, glowering at the black redactions throughout the small amount of papers within the manila folder. At least, small in comparison to most. He had read through that folder about five times a year to keep up with the information, and practically knew it like the back of his hand. So he knew the very well hidden gaps of information, in what little is not currently covered by a black box.

Like the fact that his trainers had changed after the change in Mentor, three years before Desmond ran away. And how the personal notes in the margins, the things that weren’t redacted because they couldn’t be, had changed tune after that same trainer change. In fact, from those notes Adam managed to figure out that Desmond had not been in his age group, but in the older groups, by the age of six. He continued with those groups until Bill, of all people, took over his training, and Desmond was separated from all groups. That triggered the warning bells in Adam’s head, especially since he knew how Bill was as a person. If Desmond had been in solo training with Bill, down to the type of diet he was restricted to, then it really was no wonder that the younger Miles had run. Adam would have done it sooner, if he had been in that situation. That whole situation screamed psychological abuse, and made Adam wish he was still a cop so he could arrest his own Mentor for even doing that. To his own son, of all people.

He sighed and closed the file. Setting it aside, he leaned back in his office chair and rubbed at the bridge of his nose. He had asked Frank to get the full file two days ago, with promise of payment for the non-work related request, which meant that soon the hacker would get through, finds the requested file, and send it to Adam, if he knew how quickly Frank worked.

The intercom crackled to life. “Jensen,” Frank’s voice came over the speakers. “I’m heading up to your office. My payment had better be worth this.”

Adam raised an eyebrow as the intercom shut off. He knew the Assassin’s had their best programmers build the firewall around the network, but Frank had almost sounded excited instead of angry or frustrated. Maybe Ms. Crane was right about saying that coding was as much of an adrenaline rush as jumping off a helicopter with a snowboard attached to your feet. He tried that once, only the once, and knew the feeling. Intimately.

They’re nothing alike.

He picked up the envelope he put Frank’s payment in as the tech stormed his office with a large manila folder in hand. Adam raised an eyebrow at the thickness, and at the manic grin on Frank’s face.

“Whoever this kid is, those people did not want anyone getting this file. The payment for the paper will come out of my pocket, this is the best high I’ve had in a while,” Frank said, tossing the folder onto Adam’s desk.

The security head leaned forward and held out the envelope between his first two fingers. “I figured they wouldn’t,” he said, slipping past the whole truth easily. He’d been doing this long enough to know how to lie without actually telling an untruth. “The agreed-upon payment, in cash, and I hope you didn’t leave the network open.”

Frank rolled his eyes as he took the envelope from Adam. “I will ignore the insult to my skills in favor of this glorious high that I will not allow you to bring me down from.” Frank turned and moved to the door. He paused and turned back to face Adam. “I suggest making yourself scarce for the next two months. In fact, make yourself scarce all the time.”

Adam smirked and leaned back. “And if I have another one of these jobs for you?”

“If it has to do with that beautiful system, I will gladly allow you in my space.”

“How about one similar to it?”

Frank froze, and gave him a sharp, calculating gaze. “What do you know?”

Adam shrugged and reached for the file. “Nothing, yet.” He flipped the folder open and met Frank’s eyes. “Give me a week and I might let you know.”

He looked back down at the file and began reading. He barely registered when Frank left his doorway in favor of learning the truth about one Desmond Miles.

* * *

 Adam punched the wall next to his front door as soon as he entered his small apartment. The file Frank had gotten him weighed heavily in the over-the-shoulder satchel that Adam used for Brotherhood business. It had been even worse than Adam had ever thought. Bill had combed through Desmond’s file and removed anything that depicted the younger Miles as the best novice in the compound, redacting what he couldn’t remove because they were on the same page as what he wanted people to read. He removed entire mission reports from Desmond’s file, for crying out loud.

How Bill could live with himself, Adam didn’t know.

How Bill’s wife had resisted the urge to murder Bill was a better question. And that was probably because Bill was still needed as Mentor.

Adam shook his head and walked down into his living room. He came to a stop as his eyes rested on a male dressed in a white hoodie and blue jeans standing next to his desk. His hand twitched to his sidearm as the male turned.

He blinked once he recognized Desmond’s face. What was he doing there?

“Hey, listen I’m not here to steal anything. I just want to talk,” Desmond said, raising his hands and stepping away from the desk.

Adam pulled his sidearm out of its holster and unloaded it. The action clearly shocked Desmond, who lowered his hands as Adam placed both the 10mm and its magazine on a side table. “Talk about what?” he asked, edging around the fact that he knew the young man.

Desmond took a deep breath before his words spilled out. “I thought I had recognized you from when I was a kid, and was hoping you could help me.” He flinched back, as if expecting a scolding.

Or a hit.

Adam slowly moved across the living room to stand in front of Desmond. He carefully rested his hands on the younger man’s shoulders and said, “You were right, we did know each other, though I was in the age group four years above where you were.” Desmond’s eyes popped open, and he stared as Adam asked, “How can I help?”

Desmond stayed quiet for a minute, before he whispered, “You’re not going to tell my dad where I am, are you?”

Adam shook his head. “Not a chance,” he reassured, squeezing Desmond’s shoulders gently. “Now how can I help?”

“I need a new job,” Desmond said, glancing away from Adam’s face for a second. “It sucks, but despite me being their top bartender the Bad Weather laid me off. Still new, so I guess they thought I was expendable or something. I was wondering if you knew anyone who was hiring.”

Adam stared at Desmond for a second, thinking. Slowly, he said, “I work at Sarif Industries as the head of security. If I recommend you to fill in an opening in the team, Boss would be willing to take a look at your resume.”

Desmond gaped, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. It was only when Adam raised an eyebrow that the young man said anything. “You’d do that? I mean, I’ve never taken a security job before. Most of my resume’s filled with bartending positions.”

“And you have at least two current employees who can attest that you were practically security at your last place of employment,” Adam countered calmly. “At the least, you’ll be given a trial run and told no. Otherwise? He’s taken on people with less experience in the field of security before. You’ll do fine.”

Desmond stared at him, his eyes misting. Adam was worried he had said something wrong when suddenly he was pulled into a tight hug. He let Desmond hold him, wrapping his arms around the other’s shoulders as they began to jump and tears started to soak into his shirt. Adam bit his tongue, holding back the urge to find Bill Miles and kill him.

It was the least that bastard deserved for ruining his son.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapters will be slow posting. I'm working on this on top of college coursework and a couple other fanfictions I have in the works.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Desmond hadn't really thought that Adam was serious about that job at Sarif Industries. With the possibility of a new life ahead of him, what happens when the past comes back to haunt him?

Desmond fiddled with the sleeve of his favorite white hoodie as he waited for the secretary to give him the okay to enter the large office doors. His interview with David Sarif for the security position was in ten minutes, and he knew that Adam was in that office answering his own questions for why Desmond should be hired.

He still couldn’t believe the support the head of security was showing him. He’d heard that Adam was in charge of the information flow and missions in Detroit, and had a direct line of communication to Desmond’s dad, so Adam should have read his file, which would have been full of his dad’s lies about him. Hell, Desmond had heard them so often he wasn’t sure whether what his dad spouted off were lies or not. Yeah, he was a good bartender, and had managed to hide in a tech-savvy world for nine years from both Assassin’s and Templars, but good enough to be considered for an Assassin? No way. He was a fluke.

And yet.

Adam had shown nothing but calm support over the past week Desmond had been crashing on his couch. He let Desmond get back on his feet enough to really consider the offer for working at Sarif Industries, and took in his resume personally. In all of Desmond’s twenty-five years, he’d never known someone who acted as much like an emotional rock as Adam did. Not even his mom had as much of an effect on Desmond as Adam did. He hadn’t had this much support since before—

Well. Before.

It didn’t matter.

Desmond’s head popped up as his fake name was called. Desmond “Dez” Adair was as far from Desmond Miles as he could get without feeling like he had left an intrinsic part of himself behind. The elderly lady, he thinks Adam had introduced her as Athene, smiled at him. “Mr. Sarif is ready for you,” she said in a kind tone. He nodded and stood. Moving to the door, he paused right outside of it and took a deep breath.

He entered the office and gave Adam a small nod before focusing on the slightly graying elder man. Automatically, he allowed his vision to gray out. Adam’s form in the corner of his eye was covered in the same blue glow as always, but Sarif didn’t gain a glow. Swallowing convulsively, he dropped the Vision and approached the desk. He held out his hand. “It’s an honor to meet you, Mr. Sarif,” he said, garnering a laugh from his potential employer.

“Son, do you know how often I hear that line? Anyways, Mr. Adair, sit down, tell me about yourself. How do you know Adam?”

Desmond grinned slightly as he sat down opposite the business tycoon. “Our families were close, though we really didn’t see much of each other while I was still living with my parents. That, and he is nine years older than me. Kind of a big brother figure whenever he was around. Still is.” The rehearsed lines slipped from his lips easily, showing that he had gotten too damn used to lying. He hated it.

Sarif chuckled. “Well, I do suppose there is that fact.” He then sobered and looked Desmond straight in the eye. “I’ll be straight with you, Mr. Adair – do you mind if I call you Desmond? – I had someone look into your background, and there really isn’t much about you out there.” Desmond fought to keep his muscles from tensing up, and let the Vision flicker in again. Sarif was now glowing a slight red. He figured this was going to come up, he just hoped it wouldn’t be this early in the interview. “Would you mind explaining just why the only things my guy could find about you was your degree in mixology and your resume? And the second I had to be handed personally?”

Desmond glanced over to Adam, who gave a minute shake of his head. He took a deep breath and looked back at Sarif. “I don’t exactly like having my business spread across the Internet where anyone can come across it. Call me paranoid, Mr. Sarif, but what you found on me is what you will be getting,” he said as calmly as he could. “If you prefer to know more about your employees than that, then I suppose this interview is over.”

He stayed sitting as Sarif glanced between Desmond and Adam. Finally, after a minute, Sarif smiled and leaned forward, his glow changing to a soft blue. “I think you’ll do just fine, Desmond. You’re currently rooming with Adam? Show up to work tomorrow when he goes in, your shifts will be the same.” Sarif stood and added, “This is just a trial period. One week, and if you don’t show me you can handle the job then you’re out.”

Relief settled heavy on Desmond’s shoulders. He stood and shook hands with Sarif once more. “You won’t regret this, Mr. Sarif.”

\- - -

He might have been right about Sarif not regretting taking him on, but Desmond was seriously reconsidering his decision to go to Adam. If he had known just what he was getting into, he wouldn’t have hacked into the ex-SWAT’s apartment and waited for his shift to end.

The job was hard. Like, the hours weren’t anything Desmond wasn’t used to. His hours were generally from opening to closing at the bars he had worked for previously, so long work hours weren’t the problem. Adam just had him manning the security cameras and the dead-end patrols, probably on Sarif’s orders. It seemed like something his new boss would do.

And then there was when he ran into Faridah in the halls. Talk about embarrassing.

Though apparently he know was invited to her place to make her drinks. Nice to know what he was really good for.

It was close to the end of the first week when he had finally interacted with the infamous Frank Pritchard. He had been scheduled a double shift the night before one of Sarif’s teams was going to present their research to the Capitol. The intelicam feeds had flickered in the lab areas, and acting on what he had been told he immediately contacted his head of technical security.

“Pritchard here.”

“Adair, something’s wrong with the intelicams, lab sublevel six,” he said, looking over the other feeds.

“You’re certain something is wrong and that you didn’t blink?” Pritchard snarked back.

Desmond took a deep breath and calmed down. As he did, the feeds blinked out. “Yeah, something’s wrong. They just completely shut down.” He fought a jump as the alarms just went off.

Pritchard cursed over the coms. “Good catch, Adair. You’re actually observant. Keep an eye on the other feeds, I’ll coordinate with Jensen.”

Desmond nodded even though Pritchard wouldn’t hear it, and watched the other feeds. His eyebrows creased and he focused on the outside feeds. Several armed men were making their way in through the sewer entrances, though none had their faces uncovered. He froze when he saw soldiers in black with a small white triangle on the left breast of the uniform. Desmond quickly caught the men in stills and sent them to a personal datapad. That symbol meant one thing, and it was not good.

Abstergo found him.

He turned to the one entrance and barred the doors. He then grabbed the rifle in the nearby locker and loaded it. It was a regular heavy-duty rifle. Back at the Farm, Desmond had trained in these guns, at his mother’s insistence after the disaster of a mission at age 7 where he took the sniper nest. He looked down the scope for a second before returning to the feeds. He could see Adam starting to move through the hallways from around awkward corners, and a ball of dread formed in the pit of his stomach.

This was not going to end well. He just knew it.

\- - -

Desmond groaned as he blinked his eyes open. Darkness was all that he could see. On automatic, he let the Vision flicker in, and he managed to see four red forms through what might be a wall. He jerked, wincing when he wrenched his shoulder. Okay, so he was blindfolded, with four enemies in the area but not the room, and his hands were locked behind his back. Wonderful.

He froze as his memories came back of what happened. Someone had gotten into the security room. He had only realized what was going on when a dart lodged into the back of his neck. Desmond fought the urge to bash his head against the wall behind him.

Since he was still alive, he was going to assume that an Abstergo agent had been the one to knock him out, and they were holding him. The only way they could have known where he was would be the fingerprints he had to give to Sarif upon taking the job, and that meant they had a leak in the system. Oh, how Pritchard was going to love that once he realized it.

If he realized it.

Desmond seriously doubted that anyone was going to come and rescue him, so he was going to have to sit tight and let the bastards do what they wanted with him. It was not a reassuring thought.

Without thinking about it, he twisted his hands so that he could touch the bindings around his wrists. Desmond bit the inside corner of his lip when he felt rope. Did they think he was stupid or something? Maybe he could try and get out, if that’s what he is up against. He slowly wiggled his fingers in between the rope, and found the knot. He bit down hard enough to taste blood. A constrictor knot. Better on smaller objects, but the knot itself feels tight. He’d need to cut it to get the blasted things off if he couldn’t get a finger into the knot itself. He put half his attention on his surroundings and the other on slipping his finger through the knot to try and loosen it. He wasn’t bound anywhere else that he could tell, though he could hear wind passing by rather quickly. A VTOL, or some kind of cargo jet. There was no other sound around him, beyond the thrum of the engine underneath, not even another person’s breathing, so he guessed that he might be in the actual cargo section of whatever aircraft he was on.

His finger was most of the way into the knot when the sound of a door opening stilled him. A large red form loomed in the doorway. Desmond kept his breathing steady as heavy-booted footsteps walked up to him. A hand roughly grasped the blindfold and tore it off. He blinked slowly, letting his eyes get used to the light and the Vision flicker off. He glanced up and fought a cringe when he met the eyes of the same man who had shot Adam. Desmond remembered seeing that through the feeds before being hit with the dart.

Come on. I survived my dad all but torturing me in practice situations like this. I can handle what he throws at me. Desmond kept his face blank even as the man kneeled down in front of him and grasped his chin. He let the inspection happen, defiantly meeting the man’s eyes as he did. The smile that broke across his face was not reassuring.

The man turned slightly and called out, “Your man’s awake,” in a think Israeli accent. Desmond stopped himself from tilting his head in curiosity. He had to give them nothing. No sign that he even cared what they were doing.

He restarted his progress with the knot as the Israeli stood and allowed a blonde haired man to step up before walking out. Desmond bit down on his lip again as the face clicked in his brain.

Daniel Cross. The traitor.

Something must have registered on his face, because Daniel chuckled and shook his head. “Oh good. You recognize me.” Desmond glared as Daniel knelt down in front of him and silently regarded him for a second. “You know, I always wondered why Bill tried so hard to ruin your record. I mean, even I remember hearing about your successful missions before you ran, Miles. Granted, seven is a bit too early to start going on those, isn’t it?”

Desmond controlled his breathing, fighting down the urge to scream at Daniel in much the same way he did with his father those last three years. He was just trying to get a rise out of Desmond, and the younger man wasn’t going to give him that.

Daniel seemed to be amused with Desmond’s silence. He reached forward and tugged at the uniform that Desmond was still in. “Never would have taken you for security, Miles. Especially since you mainly stuck to bars up until a week ago.” Daniel leaned in and breathed directly into Desmond’s face, “What changed?”

His lips twitched with the urge to bite Daniel. Instead, he sat there in silence, fire in his unblinking gaze.

Daniel shrugged and stood. “Well, I suppose if I needed to know, I would have been briefed. We’ll be landing in half an hour at the base.” He walked out the door, but just before he closed it he added, “The Doc will probably get more out of you than me, anyway.”

Desmond let his eyes close and head fall back as the door closed. Yep, this was turning out to be a spectacular day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit shorter than previous, but hey, I wanted to get right into the conflict of the story. Like it so far? Reviews are my lifeblood!
> 
> I will be posting new chapters every Thursday.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just out of the LIMB Clinic, and the only thing Adam really cares about is what happened to Desmond. And maybe dragging Francis into the Brotherhood, but only because there's no other choice!

Adam moved over to his large desk in the living room, loudly ignoring his new mechanized limbs in favor of the laptop hidden underneath all of the papers and clock parts. Desmond had been missing for a week and no one had even noticed because casualties were still being logged from the attack, without taking into account that Desmond had been a recent hire still in his probation phase. The laptop was unearthed quickly and pulled from the desk. Adam set it on the coffee table and pulled a cigarette from the pack he had bought. Normally he wouldn’t even consider smoking, but ever since the augmentations were added without his permission Adam found he just didn’t give a shit anymore.

He lit the cigarette up while waiting for the laptop to load. No one knew about his laptop, mainly because it was his information hub for the Brotherhood forum that he moderated. He doubted that even Frank would be able to hack into it if he ever found out. Ms. Crane had been the one to build the firewall, from scratch, to be better than the rest of the network.

He quickly brought up the forum and scanned it for new information. Moscow was still dark, worrisome there especially since the last message from them had mentioned Cross. Rome’s dealer giving a new team access to the city, while pulling out all the other teams, suspicious but not enough to warrant Adam making an international call yet. He made note of the leader of the team – Ms. Crane, surprisingly since she was a technician in the Brotherhood’s competing Animus Project. Nothing else on American soil. He looked to the forum dealing with monitoring Abstergo’s movements, and got a hit.

Adam put the cigarette out as he leaned forward. Apparently, the Lineage Acquisition Unit had gotten a new subject the same time that Desmond went missing. He noted that “Subject 17” was in the Rome facility, and pulled his cell out. That was why Crane and Hastings were in Rome.

They were there for “Subject 17.”

He wavered between calling Crane or Frank. He needed to be sure that 17 was even Desmond to begin with, but he could get that by calling Crane. At the same time, he knew that the Rome dealer hadn’t heard anything from the spy that Bill planted in that very same facility. He needed more information before calling Crane and telling her to get Desmond back to the states, and the only way to do that would be to bring Frank into the loop.

Adam hated recruiting like this.

He set aside the phone and stood. First, he needed a shirt.

\- - -

Adam knocked on the doorjamb to Frank’s office before entering. He walked up to the tech’s desk and waited for him to look up and notice who had just entered his domain.

Frank’s glance was quick, but the jerk of his head that came after would have been amusing if the situation had been better. “Jensen? Aren’t you on perma-leave?”

Adam fought rolling his eyes. “Nice to see you too, Francis. I’ve got another job for you.”

“All due respect, Jensen, but Sarif already has me running ragged, what with the attack that happened a week ago. I’m fairly certain you remember that, right?” Frank turned his attention back to the screen in front of him. “I wouldn’t have time to do any other work if I took on your job.”

“Desmond is missing, Pritchard.”

“Or he’s dead, and the autopsies haven’t gotten to him yet.” The glare he received was frigid. “And why should I care about a new hire? Yes, Adair noticed the intelicams going out, but plenty of others were killed in the attack that had been here longer than him.”

For fucks sake. “That file I had you get?” The glare got narrower. “Yeah, that was his. From birth to sixteen years old. You want to find out more, actually read the back up of the file that I know you have, and look for anything else out on the Internet. I’d recommend starting within the Abstergo main servers.” Adam turned and moved to storm out of the office.

“Jensen!” He paused. “Please tell me you weren’t serious about Abstergo Industries?”

He turned around and stared Frank down. He didn’t even say a word, just turned back to the door and left. If Frank really wanted to fully understand, he’d come to Adam on his own. It was better to just let him piece things together on his own.

\- - -

It was two days later that Frank came pounding on his front door. In the intervening time, Adam all but remained glued to his laptop, keeping track of the Rome team’s progress. Apparently, Stillman had let Abstergo get a hold of the memory they were after in 17, and the team was waiting on her getting him out to their temporary base. From what Adam saw, they really didn’t have much of a plan at all. They were a group of techs with a highly slandered and abused Assassin that they wouldn’t expect much from with them.

Something was bound to go wrong.

When Frank came pounding on his door, Adam could only lever himself up off the couch, partially in disgust. He walked up to his front door, not caring that he didn’t have a shirt on fully showcasing the bandages, scars, and augmentations, and swung it open. He leaned in the doorway and raised an eyebrow at Frank, who looked like he hadn’t slept since the last time Adam had seen him. The dark circles were a little ridiculous. “Yes, Francis?”

His partner seemed to start and stop talking for a minute before he finally managed to sputter out, “How long?”

Adam rolled his eyes and settled further against the doorjamb. “How long what, Francis? Since I was an Assassin? That’s been as long as I can remember. Since the war started? No one really knows that answer. Or since I was in charge of the flow of information and confirmation for kills within Detroit? That would be since I started work for Sarif, though apparently I had been doing that for about three years now.”

Frank stared at him with his jaw all but hitting the floor. Adam shook his head and put a mechanical hand on the tech’s shoulder, leading him into the apartment. He closed the door and moved into the kitchen, grabbing two tumblers and the bottle of whiskey. He glanced down at the living room, and found Frank staring at the spread of files on the coffee table, couch, and floor. “What, have you been living at that spot, Jensen?” Frank asked, gesturing to the mess.

Adam shrugged and walked out of the kitchen. “Rome is on the other side of the planet. I was keeping up with the information passing through there, on top of the Abstergo-related info feed and the Detroit feed.” He sets the tumblers down and opens the bottle. Adam glanced up at Frank as he poured. “So, what exactly did you find?”

“That the last time someone brought up conspiracy theories about Abstergo Industries that they mysteriously vanished off the face of the Earth? The same with interns that work for Abstergo. Oh, and apparently they’re a cover company for this Illuminati-type group working behind the scenes of governments for centuries!” Frank reached out and grabbed one of the full tumblers off the coffee table. He downed half the liquid, pulled the glass back and stared at it. “That was a lot smoother than the whiskey you normally have.”

Adam shrugged and set the bottle down. He turned it so Frank could see the label. “It pays to have a skilled bartender as a roommate,” he said in lieu of explanation. “What else?”

Frank sighed and ran a hand over his hair. “About which side? I went back into that network you paid me to hack into and found the mother load of information about the Assassin’s, including the edited version of that file which, by the way, I am appalled that people actually believed that load of tripe. I found the server with the forums and had that up and constantly running on a separate computer for most of the past day. You keep track of all that on top of handling security? And haven’t been fired yet for sub-par work?” Adam glared at Frank, who waved him off. “Fine, fine. So, this Illuminati-type organization has Abstergo Industries as their main cover, but the Assassin’s don’t have one, which is not helping your monetary issues let me tell you that. Numbers are also smaller than Abstergo’s, by a large gap. Something about an attack made twelve years ago?” Adam nodded his confirmation. “Yeah, so that happened, causing William Miles to take over as “Mentor” to the Assassin Brotherhood. Must have wiped out quite a bit of the hierarchy, since from what I saw he was about fifteen people down the list of those who could take over in that case. Anyways, once I got into the Abstergo network I had to poke around fairly deep to find anything about the Illuminati-types – is there another name for them? I can’t keep calling them that.”

Adam smirked and said, “Well, the Assassin’s normally call them Templar Bastards, but their organization name is actually the Templar Order.”

Frank paused and set the tumbler that was halfway to his lips down on the coffee table. “Okay, so. Templars are apparently real. Please tell me that the Illuminati—“

“Run by the Templars, actually. But not every member of the Illuminati are Templars, and not all Templars are Illuminati. Heck, not all Abstergo employees are Templars.” Adam mumbled, “Something that many of my colleagues tend to forget.”

Frank stared for a minute before shaking his head. “Back on topic, the Templar Order keeps their presence very deep within Abstergo’s network, which I applaud them for while also condemning them for several of their experimentations that they have done over the years. And the disappearances that they orchestrate on those poor interns. The biggest experimentation I condemn them for is their Animus Project.” He sat down heavily on the desk chair and dragged a hand through his hair, dislodging his ponytail. “You seemed to have connected the dots right. Desmond Miles is currently listed as a “Subject 17” in the Animus Project.”

Crack!

Adam took a deep breath and let the glass and whiskey fall from his fingers. “Well,” he said, fighting to keep his voice calm even as he wanted to storm Abstergo himself just to get Desmond out of there. “Shit.”

\- - -

“Crane, I’m telling you. If you do not send Miles back to Detroit— Yes, I’ve known where he’s been. For two weeks before he was kidnapped, in fact... No, I had no intention of informing our illustrious leader..” Adam turned from the window and locked eyes with Frank, who was monitoring the feeds while the augment was on the phone. Frank tilted his head, his still loose hair falling partially in his face. Adam shook his head and looked away. “I refuse to answer that on the grounds that I don’t have to. Becca, send Miles back to Detroit. Before I decide it is prudent for me to retrieve him myself.” He ran a hand through his hair and sighed. “You want to know why I’m not handing Miles over to Bill? Hack his personal computer and read the younger Miles’s file, the real one. If you don’t, I will spam your computer with the full file that I paid a hacker to get off Bill’s computer. Yes, Becca, I know a hacker who is better than you. Send Miles back, you have four days.”

Adam listened to the silence on the other side of the phone, and was pulling it away from his ear when Becca screamed, “What do you mean there’s a hacker better than me?!” He smirked and hung up.

Looking up, Adam caught Frank’s curious and shocked gaze. He raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“Who was that, and how much of an insult is it that you consider me a better hacker than her?” Frank asked, his voice obviously wary of the potential outcome. Adam’s smirk grew, and he fought back a chuckle.

“Rebecca Crane. She helped build the Assassin’s firewall. That you hacked into already,” he said, leaning back against the desk. He tilted his head slightly and regarded Frank’s sudden stillness and look of awe.

“That beautiful system?”

“The very one that gave you a high, yes. Now has there been any word over the feeds, since you decided to look after them for the time?”

Frank rolled his eyes and looked back at the screen in front of him. “Nothing out of Rome still, so Desmond isn’t on the move yet. A team was sent into Moscow to look for another that had gone silent. Apparently, they found their corpses, and that the item they were guarding had been stolen. There was some talk about a Cross person being involved with the situation?” Adam froze as Frank continued speaking, “I think one of your informants just posted an update on a mission, but I have no context so I have no idea what this is.”

“Cross?” Adam managed to choke out through the rage forming in his chest, stopping Frank from continuing.

“Er, yes I do believe I mentioned him. Good to know your hearing wasn’t damaged from the- HEY!” Frank cried out as Adam stalked over to where he was sitting and all but tore the laptop away from him.

Adam adjusted the angle of the screen and switched over to the Abstergo feed. He scanned it for information on Cross’s whereabouts, and cussed when he saw that the traitor had just landed in Rome. His fingers twitched with the urge to call Becca back and update her on the situation, but instead Adam closed his eyes and breathed. He needed to trust that Desmond could handle Cross if they run into each other.

Here’s hoping that Stillman could keep his charge safe with that madman in the same city.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I post a new chapter every Thursday.


	4. Interlude 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Interludes will be done in character POV's who are not Desmond and Adam. They will be shorter than the average chapter, but still follows in the storyline just the same as a regular chapter. Please keep this in mind, as I will be switching over to Desmond in the next chapter and detailing the escape from Abstergo.
> 
> For now, however, have a Francis Wendell Pritchard.

It had been four hours since Frank showed up at his coworker’s apartment, and already much of what he had known about the world he lived in was turned on its head. Now there were shadow organizations that ran other shadow organizations, a war being fought right in front of everyone’s noses, and his most hated person was right in the middle of it. At least, in regards to Detroit Jensen was.

Some days, Frank wondered if he should have gone with Janus’s offer and became a hacktivist. Or continued working for gangs on their security systems.

He looked up from his own computer he had brought with him when Jensen’s laptop started to chime. His eyebrow shot up as Jensen all but shot out of his seat and scramble to the other side of the room. “What has you so terrified from a chime?” he asked, voice laden with dry cynicism.

Jensen glared and said, “I broke my bathroom mirror after glimpsing myself in it, and that’s a video call. I’d rather not have to get a new laptop for my Brotherhood business.”

Frank rolled his eyes and moved in front of the laptop. He asked, “Crane, isn’t it?” At Jensen’s nod, Frank answered the call and pasted a dry sarcastic smile on his face as the webcam started up.

Before he could even say a word, the female on the other side yelled out, “Adam Jensen if I could come through this computer I would strangle you! There’s no hacker better than me or Hastings!”

Frank raised an eyebrow at the brunette woman in the window. “Hi, Frank Pritchard, but you can call me Nucl3arSnake. Jensen’s being chicken-shit and not answering right now.” He leaned forward and rested his chin on folded hands. He observed as her jaw fell and eyes widened in shock. A ginger male stuck his head over her shoulder and raised his eyebrows at Frank. “Are you the ones who built that beautiful network he paid me to hack into?”

“Two of them, and I can’t believe I’m saying this but Jensen was right. You’re at least better than Hastings at hacking,” Crane said, earning a slap from Hastings. “What? I know you’ve heard of Nuckl3arSnake’s exploits! By the way, Adam, didn’t know you were recruiting now.”

“Wasn’t planning on it anytime soon. I needed a hacker, Becca, and Francis’s the best one I know,” Jensen said loud enough for the microphone to hear him from across the room. Frank felt himself flush at the compliment, and decided to ignore it. “I take it you found the file?”

“Of course I found the fucking file, and I so want to castrate Bill for doing what he did! How has Heather not killed him for slandering one of their most promising Novices like that, never mind that Desmond’s her son!” Frank winced as Crane screamed through the speakers. It seemed like he wasn’t the only one with problems regarding her volume – Hastings rubbed at one of his ears and had a grimace on his face as well. “However we don’t have the option to cause harm to Bill, especially since Lucy’s working on getting Desmond the hell out of there,” Crane added at a more acceptable volume.

Hastings’ phone went off, and he walked away to take it. Frank glanced to Jensen, whose face was pinched tightly. “Will I need to head for Italy within the next twenty-four hours to retrieve my ward, Becca?”

“Stow it, big guy, we’re gonna start packing as soon as we’re done on the call,” Crane said before returning her attention to Frank. “Can you get the big lump in the camera so I can chew him out to his face?”

Frank raised an eyebrow at the request. “You expect me to be able to move him?” Not even in his gang days was he that stupid, but he wasn’t going to mention that.

Before either of them could add anything further, Hastings hung up and moved back to Crane’s side. “We have a problem,” he said, voice dangerously close to showing worry. Jensen froze as Hastings reported, “Cross was there. Desmond’s been hospitalized.”

Crane cried out, “WHAT?!” as Frank sought out Jensen’s augmented eyes. He couldn’t read the emotion in them anymore, but he didn’t need to. It was written out all over his face. The rage and protectiveness there floored Frank, and made him suddenly glad that the man at least respected him enough to consider him on the same side.

Whoever this Cross person everyone kept mentioning was, he’s so fucked.

Jensen stalked across the room and leaned over Frank’s shoulder, all prior self-consciousness gone. “Injuries?”

“Gunshot wound to his thigh, and the same leg was caught in the car door as Lucy sped off to get away,” Hastings reported as cynically as he could with a highly concerned look on his face. Frank got the feeling that reading the file had warmed the man to Desmond. “She mentioned that LIMB was looking to amputate the whole leg.”

“Run a trace to the location of the call, it’s a safe house. I’ll contact one of our pilots and head over as soon as I can. Hastings, it’s the LIMB clinic in Rome, I take it?”

“Yes sir, closest to their location though not the safest,” Hastings said. “I’ll get to work on their security systems and pull all information on Desmond’s hospitalization...”

Jensen must have shook his head. “No, get a signal jammer in the area, I don’t want any chance of there being a GPL tracker on either of them. Becca, I want a virus in Abstergo’s system yesterday, bring that network down for as long as you can.” The nods of agreement brought a raised eyebrow to Frank’s face. They acted like Jensen actually had the right to order them around. Which, for all Frank knew, he probably did. “Contact Stillman before the jammer’s in the area, have her request a transfer if Desmond’s stable enough for one. If he is, have her relay me his new location on the secured pager the head of Rome’s information should have left her, it’ll get through the jammer. If not, tell her to be on the lookout for any suspicious activity until I get there. I don’t want either of you in the field, so pack and wait for the pilot to come pick you up for extraction.”

“Yes sir,” Crane said before cutting the call.

Frank turned as Jensen stalked back to his room. “And what, exactly, would you have me do, Jensen?” he snarked back at the other man. Though, granted, his snark was more to save face and cover the fact that he was honestly concerned about what was going to happen to Desmond. It had all seemed distant, until he heard of the injuries sustained.

Jensen stopped in the doorway and turned to face Frank with an eyebrow raised and a small quirk to his lips. “I know anything I say you won’t actually do, so at the most, you can stay here and keep an eye on the feeds. Unless you’d rather go back to Sarif to work on the firewall there,” Jensen said before going through the door. Frank stared at the doorway, silently kicking himself. He should never have taken the first job. Then he wouldn’t be so damn curious that he was seriously contemplating sticking around and keeping an eye on those feeds. He wouldn’t have even looked into the Assassin’s or Abstergo.

He sighed, rubbing at his eyes. Something told him he was going to need Red Bull to keep awake. It was possible to work on the firewall outside of Sarif Industries, and he only needed to keep an eye on the feeds he’d been watching anyways.

Pushing off from the couch, he called out, “I’m heading to my apartment to get caffeine!” The laughter that followed him out made him want to bash Jensen’s head in.

\- - -

Frank stared at the insides of the kitchen cabinet in disbelief. He could feel his eye begin to twitch the longer he stared at it. Briefly, he wondered just how Jensen survived when he had _absolutely nothing in his kitchen cabinets besides cereal and alcohol_.

It might have been a mixture of lack of sleep and too much caffeine. It might be his minds reaction to all of the revelations he’s been experiencing in the past two days, all of the conspiracies and hidden battles being fought behind the scenes. It might even have to do with the fact that he had been staring at the news feeds for too long and needed a break.

But Jensen had no food in his apartment. Heck, there was only a kitchen, a living room, a bedroom, and a bathroom. How did this constitute as a safe house again? Were the Assassin’s that strapped for money that they were forced to use people’s homes, no matter the size, as their safe houses?

Quickly, he snapped pictures of the empty cabinets and shot them off to Malik with a text of “This man cannot help himself and he’s invited four people to stay with him for an extended period of time. I’ll explain later. Help.” Frank then called Jensen through the infolink. “Jensen, it’s Pritchard. I’m bringing Malik in, you barely have any food here.”

“Going through my cabinets, Francis?”

He grit his teeth at the teasing tone of Jensen’s voice. “Can you blame me? You offered up your work apartment as a safe house when there’s barely enough room for you and Desmond to live together, and you have no food. Cereal and energy bars do not count. Now can I bring Malik in on this conspiracy or not?”

“Might be hard there, Francis. She’s my pilot.”

“She’s the company’s pilot, Jensen. Just because you-“

“No, Francis. I mean she’s flying me to Rome as we speak.”

Frank sighed and ran a hand down his face. “Right. Of course she is. Please tell me you didn’t know about that until she picked you up?”

“I knew we had a pilot in Detroit, not who it was.”

“Fine.” Frank shook his head and turned back to the living room. “You still have no room or food.”

“We’ll be fine, it works as a temporary safe house until the actual one is cleared out. Another team’s already laying low in the closest one, and I want them close to keep Desmond out of Becca’s version of the Animus.” Jensen spoke in such a blasé tone of voice that Frank almost didn’t believe him when he said that last sentence.

“She built one of those machines? And was planning on shoving- No, disregard that. I’ll just get back to the feeds and maybe look into finding that blasted hole in our security,” Frank said, throwing his hands up and walking out of the kitchen. He disconnected the call before Jensen could respond, and looked at his cell when it chimed.

“ _If you’re really all that worried about him, he left his credit chit there. Or you can take some of his workload off his shoulders, find another safe house for the four or the other teams in the area. –Malik_ ”

Frank glowered at the text before stuffing the phone in his pocket. He had work to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another one down! Please leave a comment on what you like about the fic! Comments are my lifeblood!
> 
> UPDATE:
> 
> So, I'm contemplating waiting for another week for the next chapter, because I just started a new class and don't know the workload just yet. My apologies about breaking my schedule I set, but real life shit tends to get in the way of that anyways.


End file.
